The Photo Shoot
by Llmav
Summary: In which Ross and Laura shoot a fashion campaign together.


**A/N; Yeah, so this is a Raura fic. **

**I haven't written one in a while.**

**It was fun.**

**It always is.**

**I hope you guys enjoy it and I hope it makes your daydream justice, RJ.**

**This isn't entirely realistic (let's face it, Ross would probably never show up to something like this without bringing along at least one family member) but just go with it please.**

**This is long as shit, the smut is at the end if you just want to skip right to it. **

What was she doing?

What the _fuck_ was she doing?

Why why _why_ had she agreed to this?

She tapped her hand against the car steering wheel as she continued to fly down the highway.

Ah, fine, she _knew_ why. She just didn't really want to admit it.

Because it was stupid.

_She_ was stupid.

What was _wrong_ with her?

Did she have some sort of self-torture fetish or something?

Probably. Or maybe, perhaps and most likely it was just a _him_ fetish.

_That_ was worse, though, because _that_ was almost an illness, clearly incurable, and undoubtedly chronic, as she had suffered from it for years and it didn't seem like it was getting any better. At all.

And it _was_ slowly killing her, although maybe not literally.

Whatever.

So yeah, she kind of knew why she had accepted to partake in the weekend long photo shoot that she was currently and nervously heading towards.

Her agent had called her, not just twice but three freaking times to confirm, as if she wasn't completely sure whether _she_ was serious about it either.

She sighed. Her agent's disbelief wasn't exactly unfounded.

She generally didn't do a lot of modeling, not because there was a lack of offers (in fact, it was quite the opposite), but because it wasn't really her thing. For the past few years, ever since the TV show that had made her famous had ended, she had successfully focused on releasing her own music along with getting her college degree.

She had been doing occasional promotional shoots, sure, a few magazine covers here and there, but never before a full campaign.

And always by herself.

But then this opportunity had popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, messing with her head and making her all sorts of excited and in more ways than one.

Because this one _wasn't_ by herself.

As it was, the internationally known, luxury brand was doing a charity series line, all sales directly benefiting underprivileged children, the slogan of the campaign something about every child having the potential of making it, and they were therefore and appropriately using people who in fact _had_ made it at a young age as the campaign faces.

That's where she, _they_, came in.

She had hesitated, not because she didn't want to see him again, _work_ with him again, but because she almost desperately did.

It was so dumb.

It clearly wasn't, _they_ clearly weren't, meant to be. They had had years, _years_, to make it happen, and yet they were still stuck in what seemed to be an endless round of some sort of tiptoe dance, and although he loved dancing, she kind of didn't, and her legs were starting to get a bit sore, and her head a bit tired, and yet she refused to stop dancing because god damn it she didn't know how to.

Sigh.

And to top it all off, the campaign was for a good cause, such as good cause, with all the compensation to be donated to a children charity of their choice and in their names, and as she was enthusiastically involved in various forms of charity work, turning down an opportunity for such a sizable donation should probably be considered close to criminal.

The children in need shouldn't continue to suffer just because _she_ had an incurable fetish-maybe-perhaps-illness.

So she had decided to accept.

She was doing it for the children.

The _children_.

The _needy_, needy children.

But...it wasn't _just_ for the children.

She was nice, but she wasn't a freaking saint.

She wanted to see him.

Since the show had ended, they had kept in contact, like any other _friends_ would, usually keeping the conversations light and more or less consciously staying away from topics that had potential to become too personal.

And they would run into each other every now and then, usually every few months, and she usually ended up hurting a bit every time, because afterwards she couldn't stop thinking about him, fantasize about him, utterly unable to deport him from the land of her dreams although he had since long overstayed his welcome there.

The last time they had ran into each other was just a few weeks prior, at some event that she hadn't really been wanting to go to but kind of had had to.

She had been there with a date, kind of, actually it had been more of an acquaintance, and he had been there with someone, as well, and it had overall just been...weird.

She still didn't like seeing him with _anybody_ else, and that bothered her so, so much.

She tried to convince herself that it was only because she wanted what was best for him, that she was looking out for her _friend_, and that the string of bimbos that he somehow managed to attract were not even close to what he...needed.

She was such a good _friend_.

As she should be.

Because they _were_ friends.

The two of them had always had a...close relationship.

Throughout the years, the _years_, that they had known each other, it had always seemed like they managed to find ways to touch each other, always finding ways to be close, _very_ close, but not _too_ close, and therefore kind of and sadly not nearly close enough.

But there were hugs, and countless long looks, and continuous laughter, and piggy back rides, and long conversations, and music sessions that would turn into hours of hanging out in his dressing room, just the two of them, getting lost in the tunes and not at all and not even a little bit in each other, damn it.

It was kind of incredible how they were so different yet so much alike.

And crap, they had that...chemistry. Attraction. Captivation.

That _pull_.

That unavoidable draw towards each other.

He undeniably had that _something_, that something that it seemed to be _impossible_ for her to find in anyone else, even though she sometimes tried and often looked for it.

Whatever.

And _everyone_ and _anyone_ had always wanted them together.

She couldn't really blame them.

There had been a time (all the time) when she had wanted them together, too.

They were a perfect mismatch, as he was blond, and she was brunette, and he was tall while she was just...not.

They looked _adorable_ together.

_She_ was even kind of surprised that nothing had ever happened between them.

(If surprised was code for disappointed.)

They had relentlessly walked on the thin, sometimes not straight line between friendship and something else, never stepping over the line although there had been a few occasions where she thought she might trip and fall over it.

But nope.

It was almost as if they had had some unspoken agreement that maybe, maybe something could and would happen once the show was finished.

And then all of that had unavoidably changed, somewhere between him being away for long periods of time, and her making the in hindsight very questionable decision to get a...boyfriend.

That wasn't _him_.

_He_ hadnt liked said boyfriend, she knew he hadn't, even though he hadn't and would never tell her so, and she wasn't till this day sure of whether his dislike was founded on jealousy or the fact that he wanted what was best for his _friend_, which of course had turned out _not_ to be that douchey guy.

Whatever.

She didn't really want to think about it.

But she couldn't stop thinking about _him_.

And soon, within minutes, she would see him. For two full days straight.

_Ahhhhhh_.

It was going to be a _long_ weekend.

Oh, she kind of couldn't wait.

...

What was he doing?

What the _fuck_ was he doing?

Why why _why_ had he agreed to do this?

Because it was for charity?

Yeah, no, that wasn't completely it.

Ah, who was he _kidding_, he already knew the answer to that question.

There was really only _one_ reason, one short, brunette reason, behind his decision to agree to participate in the fashion photo shoot that was undoubtedly destined to become a full-length weekend of incredible painful hard-ons and subsequents non-reliefs.

What was _wrong_ with him?

He really should stop trying to figure that out, as it, _he_, was indisputably a lost cause.

He had dreamed about her for freaking _years_.

And done absolutely _nothing_ about it.

Even _he_ was getting tired of it.

He sighed as he continued speeding down the highway.

He usually didn't participate in commercial things anymore, he was kind of over it after being more or less pushed to do so during the bands earlier days, but this specific one, there was no way in hell that he was going to turn down, as it involved his personal heaven.

He kind of couldn't wait to see her, couldn't wait to spend two full days on a set winner again.

Or on her.

Or in her.

(In his dreams. Literally.)

He had been busy, _very_ busy, as of late, as it had only been a few weeks since he had wrapped his latest movie, an action one this time around, and he couldn't deny that it was the perfect timing to shoot a fashion campaign, a partially _shirtless_ fashion campaign, as he was probably in better shape than ever.

They had ran into each other just a few weeks prior, right after he had finished said movie, and it had been nice and awkward and awesome and annoying, and he hadn't been able to get her out of his head ever since, which wasn't necessarily unusual but she had popped up even _more_ frequently since then.

She had been there with someone (as had he, but that was as insignificant as the date) undoubtedly some douche as per usual, not that he knew the guy but they always were.

Fine, he might not be the most objective one, but _hell_, she really didn't have good taste in men and _shit_, if she was going to be with anyone who wasn't good enough for her, it might as well be himself.

He had been bit jealous, a little mad and a lot turned on, and he had spent most of the night ignoring his "date" while trying not to think about what it would feel like to rip off _her_ dress.

So yeah, he kind of wanted to...see her.

Badly.

And do other things to her.

Badly.

Bad things. Bad, bad things, yet things he just _knew_ would be so, so good.

But _fuck_, if it was supposed to happen, it would have by now, right?

They had known each other for years, _years_, and nothing ever had.

She was like his own personal god damn and slightly torturous museum display, fascinating, priceless, off limits, him therefore admiring her from a distance, from behind the barricades, like a piece of art that he was allowed to look at, appreciate, but not touch or he might ruin it.

By now, though, his fingers were almost literally _aching_ to know what it would feel like to break the rules and touch the canvas of her skin.

So yeah, it wasn't just the _children's_ needs he had had in mind when he eagerly accepted the offer.

Whatever.

As he was rapidly driving towards the beachfront villa where the shoot was to take place, he was oddly nervous.

Huh.

He didn't usually get nervous.

Weird.

_Ahhhhhh_.

It was going to be a _long_ weekend.

Oh, he kind of couldn't wait.

...

She wasn't completely sure whether she saw him first, or if he had already been standing there, by the tall door way, observing her for a few minutes before she had noticed him, just as he usually did.

Either way, her eyes suddenly registered him, from where she was sitting in the tall make-up chair, facing away from him.

Their eyes quickly met in the large mirror reflection opposing her, before she almost instinctively looked away for a second, trying to regroup her thoughts, while her eyes slowly, and by no will of her own, wandered back towards him.

He was wearing a simple white tee and some beat up jeans, and she couldn't help but smile at the fact that some things hadn't changed.

He had been standing there in the doorway, observing her for a few minutes before she had noticed him, just as he usually did.

There was really only one thought running through his mind.

He was _screwed_. Absolutely screwed.

He wasn't entirely sure he was going to survive two days of just _looking_ at her.

He suddenly had the violent urge to break down those damn museum barricades and fuck the masterpiece of art that was her in front of the rest of the audience.

She was so...

She was just so..._her_.

Some things were said to get better with age, and she was clearly one of them.

She still had the same small frame, with the same amazing curves, with the same beautiful face, the face that often reflected innocence, but he knew for a fact that she could, would and often did have a good time, but she still somehow managed to be just...even _better_.

He noticed that her hair was already in soft, perfected curls, cascading down her narrow back and holy mother, he wanted to know what those curls would feel like, intertwined between his fingers.

Her eyes was back on his in the mirror reflection and he nodded a greeting.

"Hey there, Laur."

"Hey Ross."

The make-up artist quickly finished, and she rose to get up and welcomed him with a hug, simply because she wanted to, and also because she wasn't quite sure how else to do so.

He smelled good, but then again, she kind of had expected him to.

And he was still much taller than her.

_That_ hadn't changed either.

Good.

She smelled good, of course she did, and was it just him, or did she almost feel even smaller in his arms than he could remember?

Maybe it was just that his arms that had gotten bigger.

_Damn_.

They had been there, in the same room, for what, 30 freaking seconds, and he was already a bit of a mess.

He let go of her, not because he wanted to but because he needed to, and they chatted for a few minutes, almost a bit nervously, about nothing important whatsoever, before he had to leave.

They had two separate rooms in the ginormous house set up as changing rooms, which kind of made sense as there would be several wardrobe changes throughout the day.

Not that he would have minded her changing in front of him or anything. Whatever.

She inhaled, exhaled, and repeated as he walked away, her heart rate nearing the speed of the chosen mode of transportation of the jet-setter she was about to portray, looking at herself in the large-sized mirror, her cheeks already a bit flushed.

_Calm_ _down_.

She could do this.

...

He walked towards his changing room, almost already (breathing) hard.

_Calm_ _down_.

He could do this.

...

She hesitantly exited the villa, stepping out onto the wooden patio, the very bright sunshine immediately and almost painfully piercing her eyes, the very same eyes that immediately landed on something else she wanted to be pierced by.

It, _he_, was standing a few yards away, his broad back leaned up against the house wall, instantly smiling when he saw her and inadvertently revealing those damn dimples.

He was looking like a million bucks, perhaps literally, as the sunshine was reflecting off of the undoubtedly _very_ expensive wristwatch that he was wearing around his tanned arm, a little lose and almost nonchalantly, as if having hundreds of thousands of dollars _physically_ at his hand was no big deal and something that he was used to.

He was clearly already getting into character.

She couldn't stop staring.

The snuggly fitting plaid shirt that he was wearing was casually rolled up around his forearms, the material stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, and his hair was just the perfect amount of length and mess.

Thank _God_ that the days when he had tried to impersonate a dirty mop were long gone, now simply a distant bad memory, a dark period that didn't need to be relived and that she hoped would never make a return.

He was wearing jeans, with just the perfect amount of worn-iness to them, somehow managing to look like an American and wet dream all compressed into one, and it was funny how her body seemed to be confused, because the swimsuit part was not supposed to be shot until the following day, but some parts of her were already starting to get drenched.

Their eyes met and she was pretty sure that she could see him swallow hard.

_Fuck_. She looked like a freaking daydream, which was painfully fitting.

She was sexy as hell, yet oddly classy, wearing a crop top that revealed just a small amount of deliscious skin and a perfectly sized sliver of her tanned waist (he wanted to lick it), accompanied by something that others would probably label _shorts_, but he was labeling _obstacle_.

And she was wearing a flower-crown. Of course she was. Because why the fuck not.

"Ready?" He managed to sound almost as nonchalant as he hoped he looked. Good.

She wasn't ready, but then again, she wasn't sure she _ever_ would be, so she nodded slightly.

"Let's do it." She started to walk towards the small group that was waiting for them a few hundred yards away.

Oh, he wanted to _do_ it, alright.

Maybe and definitely multiple times.

...

The photographer introduced himself as Cam, which made her giggle and he couldn't help but laugh as well, although he was laughing _at_ her and not _with_ her.

She was such a dork.

They talked for a couple of minutes before Cam walked them over towards the beautiful garden, stopping in the middle of an open, grassed area, filled with various flowers and them soon standing in the middle of it all.

And then it was time to work.

They both waited (im)patiently as the overly animated, middle-aged man was giving them instructions, a myriad of them, quickly changing his mind about 43 hundred times before he was finally finished, then soon snapping away with his gigantic camera.

_He_ was standing close behind her, with one of his very muscular arms wrapped around her waist, her bare waist, their skin floating into each other's, while her much smaller arm was reached back around his neck, and she could feel him breathing on her, small puffs of hot air exploding on her sensitive skin and making it a bit difficult to concentrate.

Fuck, he was close.

_Just_ _relax_.

Cam sighed. Dramatically so. "You guys look...tense. You need to get into character. You're a couple, a bit-bohemic, a bit-hipster, and a- lot-rich-couple."

Right.

They were a _couple_, albeit only for the day. Or two.

Cam half-screamed a few more instructions that they both willfully complied with before he got to work again, and for a couple of minutes, the snapping sound of the camera was the only thing that could be heard in the otherwise almost eerily quiet garden.

"Good, good. That's _much_ better."

He continued to direct them into various positions, interspersing his instructions with loud exclamations of how great they looked together.

Like she didn't _know_ that already.

Like he didn't _know_ that already.

They continued, for who knows how long, Cam working away as if they were shooting a bible-sized book rather than just a few print ads.

Not that he was complaining.

He was enjoying it.

It wasn't even a little bit bad and actually all kinds of great.

He wasn't really even affected by her close presence, like at _all_.

Not at _all_.

And then Cam yelled out some new directions, and he suddenly found himself face to face with her, or maybe more like face to chest, her looking up at him and him not able _not_ to look down at her, and their noses were just a few inches apart, and then the open, spacious area somehow and unexplainably transformed into a tiny prison cell, albeit not one that he wanted to get released _from_ but rather release _into_, and he couldn't breath or look away, and neither did she, and he kind of and perhaps wanted to push her down on the grass and fuck the shit out of her.

He didn't even care whether or not Cam continued taking pictures while doing so.

He might even prefer it.

Again, she was clearly confused, as she was now swimming, albeit not in the nearby ocean but in his eyes, his eyes that had a sprinkle of the usual easy-goingness mixed with cups of longing and gallons of..._lust_?

Someone, most likely Cam, cleared his throat, and she instantly remembered that they weren't alone.

It was time to swim back to the shore.

"Good, _good, _butRoss, you're supposed to look like you're madly in _love_, not like you're about to record the next installment of some cheap-ass pornographic movie."

Huh.

He hadn't known that he was capable of blushing, yet he knew he was, his eyes still glued to her face where a small, slightly embarrassed smile soon started to form.

They resumed, Cam continuing to yell out encouraging words along with various directions.

_Snap_.

_Snap_ _snap_ _snap_.

"Ross, your face is still looking a bit red, is the sun bothering you?"

Was there a mute button on that guy?

If so, he hoped it was located on his nose.

And that he could be be allowed to punch it.

Repeatedly.

"Ok guys, we are done over here. Follow me."

Cam trailed through the garden, her walking behind him and in front of _him_, and he felt like her short shorts were practically teasing him, calling his name, like a preschool-aged playground bully.

"_Na na na na na_, _you_ _can't_ _catch_ _me_."

The photographer stopped, abruptly, by a much more secluded part of the garden, and immediately pointed towards something.

It was a hammock, a large-sized hammock, dangling between two tall palm trees that seemed to shoot neverendingly into the blue, blue sky.

They walked up towards it, her soon standing next to it, on one side, him on the other one, and the photographer laughed.

"You're not showing off the fucking hammock. You're supposed to lay in it, you know."

"_Both_ of us?" _Together_?" She didn't mean to sound so surprised. Or excited.

She _didn't_ want to lay down with him because _all_ she wanted to do was lay down with him.

The photographer shrugged. "What's the big deal? You guys are _actors_, right, you should know how to _act_ like a couple."

He was right, they _should_. After all, they had portrayed one for years.

They climbed in, him before her, her quickly following, and soon they were laying right next to each other, the sides of their bodies closely pressed together, and the material of the hammock stretching underneath their combined weight, pulling them if possible even closer together.

_Gravity_.

"Good. Now just relax and pretend that you're laying there with a person you love."

Like he had any _pretending_ to do.

Like she had any _pretending_ to do.

"Nice. Good. _Beautiful_. Now play with her hair, Ross, twirl it around your finger while you stare _lovingly_ into her eyes."

His hair between his fingers felt even better than he had imagined.

And her eyes...

He didn't know how to think when he was looking straight into them.

Good thing he wasn't required to talk, as he wasn't entirely sure that he was still able to.

"Good, _good_. Now put your hand on Laura's waist."

He had to clear his throat. "_What_?"

"Don't look so scared, it's just her _waist_, for crying out loud." He could tell that the older man was shaking his head a bit.

He complied, his fingers gracing her bare skin, and he could feel her immediately respond to his touch, her body jerking ever so slightly yet noticeably, and he instantly felt himself respond to her response.

Cam was at it again, zooming in, zooming out, and he was about ready to move in and out of something, too.

"Ok, great, I think we've got almost everything. Laura, for the last couple of shots, why don't you wrap your leg around Ross. And rest your head on his chest."

She complied, reluctantly or at least she was pretending to be, his hard body soon under both her leg and her head.

Fuck. Crap. Shit.

He knew that there was absolutely _no_ fucking way that she didn't feel that, _him_, hardening, his wood poking into her leg, and he kind of expected her to jump out of the hammock, as if he had burned her with a hot iron or something.

She didn't move.

Like at all.

In fact, it was kind of like she was frozen in place.

He heard Cam mumble something appreciative from a close-by yet oddly far away distance.

"_I'm...__sorry_."

He was mumbling into her ear.

She turned and looked right at him, speaking under her breath. "For?"

He didn't answer, as he realized that he _wasn't_ that sorry, and his situation was kind of her fault anyways, and she responded to his silence by moving her leg, not away from him, no not at all, but instead rather pressing further into him.

_Did_ _she_ _do_ _that_ _on_ _purpose_?

She stayed still, continuing to press her leg into him until Cam finished a few minutes later, and he was almost about to do the same.

"That's all for this one. Good job, guys. Let's take a short break before the next segment."

Funny how _he_ ended up being the one leaving the hammock as if he had been burned, running off to his dressing room before she had the chance to say anything.

Or _see_ anything.

...

This time around, she surprisingly finished before him.

She was waiting for him outside, at the wooden patio, where a feast of delicacies had been brought out, the scene clearly aiming to and succeeding at mimicking some sort of food orgy.

It looked delicious, but all thoughts of the food quickly disintegrated once he stepped out on the patio and a very different type of orgy came to mind.

He was wearing a fucking suit, perfectly cut and slim in all the right places, and she wanted to touch him, touch him where she had so obviously felt him back in the hammock, and she wanted to pull on his tie, that skinny, slightly loosened tie, mess up his hair even a bit further and just..._ahhhhhhhh_.

Her mouth was almost watering, although she was no longer thinking of the nearby food.

He had been running a few minutes behind her, as he had had to...take care of something, a wood-type of situation.

Clearly, it hadn't really helped, though, as things were clearly looking up, again, as he saw her.

The long, flowy, fancy dress that she was wearing was not necessarily tight but yet somehow perfectly draped around her body, as if it had been tailor made for her, and he was suddenly very grateful that the pants he was wearing weren't of as snug of a fit as the previous pair, or the clothing campaign might have been confused for a tent commercial instead.

Cam called them over, positioning them next to the table and handing them each a glass of champagne.

"You guys look...stunning. Good. Good good good. So, you're waiting for your guests to arrive, but you can't keep your hands off of each other. Or the food."

Well, _that_ shouldn't be too hard.

Yet very hard.

They raised their glasses in a small cheers, Cam already back at it, and as she was hesitantly sipping on the champagne, he desperately wanted to be that accompanying strawberry that she was slowly allowing to enter her mouth.

"Nice. Classy but sexy. _Just_ what we're going for."

They were standing close again, breathing on each other, breathing in each other.

"Beautiful. Amazing. You guys _really_ should do more shoots together."

20 minutes of eye fucking later, the champagne long gone, and they were in the midst of feeding each other some of the delicacies, as per the photographer's request.

He reached for a grape, raising it towards her mouth, pushing it in between her lips and his finger lingered on them, gracing them lightly, and she couldn't help herself from sticking her tongue out, ever so slightly, making momentary contact with his finger, and she was pretty sure that his facial expression went from relaxed to painful in the matter of a millisecond.

Good.

They continued, under the encouragement of Cam, finger feeding each other and all he could think about was how he wanted to swipe all the food off from the table, push her down on her back and...

"Ok, ok, I think we got it. Just a _few_ more shots. We need something _big_, something _romantic_. I'm thinking a kiss."

"What?" They spoke in unison, almost as if it had been rehearsed.

Cam sighed. "I'm just asking for a peck, nothing _big_, come on now, you guys are _professionals_."

She looked at him and he shrugged. "I'm game if you are."

The only game she wanted to play with him was an improvised round of naked wrestling, although maybe that was more of a sport than a game. Whatever.

She nodded as well and he leaned down, wrapping his arms around her waist as her hands intertwined with his hair, pulling on the back of it ever so lightly as their lips met.

It wasn't a peck, it was a kiss, and he knew that he lingered for just a few seconds too long but she didn't move away, she lingered too, and maybe nobody else noticed, but _he_ sure as hell did.

Cam cleared his throat, overly loudly and they broke away, but he left his arms around her waist.

"Fuck, Laur."

His curse was low, meant for her and her only, and she knew that she would most likely let him. Possibly and most likely even in front of the crew.

"Great job, guys. _Excellent_. We'll meet you back here tomorrow morning. And remember, tomorrow is bathing suits." He sounded excited.

Oh God and fucking lord.

He released her and started to walk away, as he needed to get home, undoubtedly headed for a night of no sleep and lots of exercise.

Of the rapidly moving hand kind.

He turned around once he got to the door, realizing that he hadn't said bye to her.

She was still standing there, as if she was unable to move.

"See ya." _Would_ _wanna_ _be_ (_in_) _ya_.

He walked towards the dressing room, the taste of her still on his lips, shaking his head at his own stupidity.

They had been acting, just _acting_.

_He_ knew that, but his dick clearly didn't get that memo.

Fuck.

...

How was it morning already?

She parked, lingering in the car for a minute before stepping out of it.

The previous day had been...fun. And frustrating. And amazing. And frustrating.

The summer weather was as cooperative as could be wished for, the sun already painting the morning sky in delightful brushes, and there was a slight breeze playing with her hair as she walked the short distance to the beach mansion.

She kind of felt like she was in paradise.

She yawned as she reached the house.

She hadn't gotten much sleep.

Funny how someone running around in your head made it difficult to rest.

"Don't do that, it's contagious."

She immediately turned around, and he was greeting her with a half-crooked smile, the almost smirkish one, the one that made her want to punch him and lick his dimples and fuck him all at the same time.

His smile almost immediately turned into a yawn as well.

"See?" He was trying to sound scolding, and she laughed, and that, if anything, was contagious as well, his laughter soon joining hers in an early morning choir.

It was going to be a good day.

...

She changed, the hair and make-up people working they're magic, and before she knew it she was back out in the sunlight, back out on the patio.

"Nice...bathing suit."

She turned around and smiled at him.

"Monokini."

"What?"

"It's called a _monokini_."

Like he gave a fuck. The only reason to why he would _ever_ need to know the name of that..._thing_ was so that he would know what to call it when he was replaying his fantasy of shredding it into pieces in his too horny head.

And wasn't it kind of funny how he had complimented her bathing suit, yet he was looking at and appreciating all the parts that weren't covered by the piece of clothing.

Her narrow hips.

Her well-defined collarbone.

Her perfectly tanned legs.

_Crap_.

He was wearing a pair of tight, shortish boardshorts.

Black.

Simple.

Nothing spectacular.

Just him and his body and a small piece of material that was barely covering his thick thighs and the sunlight reflecting off of him and the heat suddenly almost unbearable and damn, she needed to breath, how did she do that again?

He had always been in good shape, she knew that, and maybe it was just that she was paying even more attention to him or something, but _fuck_ (her).

His arms, he wasn't even flexing and she could still see his muscles ripple under his tanned skin, his collarbone sticking out like something out of an erotic movie, and there was a clearly distinguished V, piercing into her eyes like a freaking arrow, directing her gaze towards his shorts and her mind towards what was inside of them.

Cam called them over and ended her gauging session, and they walked towards the adjacent, large infinity pool.

She stepped in first, and slowly.

The water was nice, warm, the sunlight reflecting off of the hot surface and almost blinding her as she slowly descended into the water.

He followed her.

Hopefully the water would be cool, as he needed to cool down.

It wasn't.

He was doomed.

They were both soon halfway into the pool, waist deep, alternating positions between him standing behind her and them facing each other, all under the control of Cam's never-ending, shouted instructions.

"Ok, great, now walk over towards the side."

They followed Cam's instructions, of course they did, until her back was pressed against the tiled wall and he was caging her in, inadvertently hovering over her, blocking the sun yet making her feel oh so hot, and for a few second he forgot that they were in public.

"Guys, guys, guys...I _know_ we're in bathing suits here, and you both look _absolutely_ amazing, but this shot is all about the _anticipation_. We want it to be _hot_, but not like you're about to rip the swim collection we are trying to sell off of each other and into pieces, you know?"

They were both blushing. As they should.

"What I need is a little less hot, a little more fashion, got it?"

They both nodded and he moved away from her, no longer standing as close, _too_ close, and she could breath again although she kind of didn't want to.

"Good, great, that's better, _beautiful_."

A few more shots and Cam was done.

"Ok, perfect guys, we'll shoot the ocean pictures in the afternoon."

He rapidly walked out of the pool, leaving her behind, instantly wrapping himself in one of the nearby towels before walking away without as much as a word.

He wasn't trying to be rude, he just needed some...alone time.

She wasn't surprised. She was starting to get used to it.

...

The lunch break was almost over.

Where was he?

She kind of wanted to talk to him.

She knew he must have gone by his dressing room, because he needed to change before the next and last part of the shoot, but when she had stopped by there nobody had answered the door.

She walked around the inside of the house, then exiting it, looking around the patio and the garden before finally locating him, leaning up against the wall on the backside of the house.

He was wearing a pair of red shorts now, equally short and tight as the previous pair, and therefore equally nice.

"What are you doing back here?"

She was in a different bathing suit, or monokini, _whatever_, an equally elaborate piece as the morning one, with cut-outs, like everywhere, the suit doing very little to cover her up and thereby equally little to help his effort to stop thinking about fucking her.

"Just...trying to calm down a bit." Literally.

Clearly, he was unsuccessful.

He was hoping she wouldn't notice.

Fuck.

Of _course_ she would notice.

The shorts were practically wrapped around him like damn surround wrap.

"Are you mad at me, or something?" She sounded upset.

"_Why_?"

"You're avoiding me. You've been avoiding me."

He shook his head, almost furiously.

He wasn't mad at her. He was kind of mad at himself, though.

"I'm not _mad_ at you."

Unless mad was code for incredibly turned on.

He noticed that she was observing him, a slightly amused smile playing on her impeccable red lips as she was now leaning up against the wall next to him, the sunlight kissing her surprisingly long legs and he couldn't get the image of having them wrapped around him, around his waist, out of his head.

Gah.

She opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by someone loudly calling them back on set.

Saved by the bell.

Or interrupted, depending on how you were looking at it.

...

They were standing in the nicely temperatured water, a few feet in, his arms wrapped around her from behind as he was breathing her in, and he was beginning to think that he was breathing _because_ of her, too.

The sun was embracing them as tightly as he was embracing her, and it was hot, in more than one way.

The hour, _hours_?, of shooting passed by in a blur, his wet body around hers, the small waves engulfing them, and he didn't know whether it was the sunlight or her that was driving him slightly crazy, maybe a combination of both.

Her head was a blur of water and sun and him and the water drops traveling down his body and his skin against his and and and...

Cam seemed pleased, muttering a few appreciative words about what good shape they were both in, _snap_ _snap_ _snap_, and before she knew it, Cam called it a wrap.

He surprised her and grabbed her, lifting her up, throwing her into the water, the subsequent water drops splattering _everywhere_, and she laughed as she pulled him into the water as well,and so did he, and as they enjoyed the ocean for a few minutes, she felt alive and high on life and he kind of didn't want the day, the shoot, _them_, to never end.

...

He walked towards his dressing room, a towel from the just finished shoot still tightly wrapped around his waist.

He had done it.

And _they_ hadn't.

But he had survived. Barely. He was still alive but barely breathing.

He slammed the door shut behind him before plunging himself down on the small couch, sighing loudly.

Holy.

If he for one delusional second had thought that his infatuation (or whatever he should call it, he knew it was possibly, probably, more than that, but crap, he wasn't much for semantics) that he had for her was non-existent, or had lessened, or disappeared, or whatever, he had clearly been wrong.

He had almost lost control and fucked her on that beach.

A couple of minutes passed, and then there was a small knock on the door, and he instantly grew annoyed.

He needed some alone time, damn it.

What could they possibly want?

He flung the door open, almost violently, and then immediately felt bad as he realized that it was her. Looking for him.

"Can I come in for a minute?"

_He_ was about to cum in a minute. Crap.

He nodded as he stepped to the side and let her in.

He had a towel wrapped around his waist and she couldn't help but wondering if he was naked underneath it. Not that she cared if he was, or anything.

"So, Cam just mentioned to me that the brand might want to shoot a short video ad, as well. Are you up for it?"

Oh, he was _up_ for it.

He nodded. As if he would ever turn anything involving her down.

"Ok, good..."

It was quiet, too quiet, and she knew that she should probably leave but she couldn't bring herself to do so, she wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to him yet, so instead she started scanning the small dressing room, her eyes soon landing on something on top of the nearby table.

"What's _that_?" She pointed towards it.

He walked over to the table and picked it up.

"This? It's just my camera. I kind of bring it along everywhere I go."

She smiled. He had been interested in photography even before the show had ended.

It was nice that he had kept some of his interests.

_Ear_-_deafening_ _silence_.

_Think_ _of_ _something_, _anything_, _to_ _say_.

"So...what do you take pictures of?"

He shrugged. "Anything that I like, that I find interesting, that I think is worth remembering."

He lifted it up and snapped a few frames off her, as she clearly fulfilled all of his just stated criteria, and she shyly held her hand up to cover the lens.

"Ross, please..."

He laughed. "What's the big deal? We just took like a _million_ pictures out there."

She shrugged, although she knew the answer.

It hadn't been _him_ taking them.

He didn't say anything, just smiled as he walked closer to her, still snapping away.

_Fuck_ _it_. She had nothing to lose.

"Ok fine, tell me what to do."

He stopped dead in his track.

"What?"

"Direct me. Tell me what to do. _You're_ the photographer now."

He hesitated for maybe a millisecond.

"Move your hair."

She smiled as she collected her curls over one shoulder. "Like _this_?"

He nodded. "Yeah. And put your hand on your hip."

She complied, and it was beyond him how she somehow looked even hotter than before, looking straight at him with a small, almost teasing smile on her face.

"Good. Now take off that...thing."

She laughed as she pulled the beach cover-up she was wearing over her head, throwing it on the floor and leaving her in just the bathing suit. Monokini. _Whatever_.

"Now what?"

"What?"

"What do you want me to do next?"

Was _me_ an accepted answer?

"Pull down the shoulder strap."

She looked at him, her face neutral, and he kind of wanted to bite his tongue off.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what..."

She silenced him by following his instruction and pulling the thin strap off of her narrow shoulder, revealing her collarbone and some skin at the top of her breast, not a lot, but enough to make him go absolutely insane, and he could tell that she was about to say something but she didn't get to finish it as he walked up to her and rudely interrupted her by covering her mouth with his.

They had kissed several times before, and as late as the previous day, but _this_, this kiss was different, maybe because it wasn't acting or maybe because he had waited for it, for _her_, for for-fucking-ever.

He wasn't completely sure of what he had expected her to do, but he realized that she was kissing him back, with the same high-leveled intensity, and he couldn't breath, and he didn't want to, because _fuck_, he was finally kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and not becuase they _had_ to or because they _should_ but because they freaking _wanted_ to.

They continued, their tongues eagerly tasting each other, and he almost lost his mind along with the very last ounce of his control when she moaned into his mouth.

Fuck, he was a good kisser. And fuck, he tasted good.

His hands where everywhere, sprinting throughout the track of her skin, leaving dusty residue of sexual need _everywhere_ as he was walking her backwards, soon pressing her back up against the door and his body into hers, his thick thighs rubbing up against her, and the tight material of the red short shorts was suddenly far from the only thing that was damp.

His hands continued to move all over her, and she was pretty sure that he was about to rip the bathing suit, the suit that was undoubtedly overly expensive and did not belong to her, into pieces.

She broke away. "You can't ruin the..."

He was kissing her again, rudely interrupting her once again, but kind of making up for it by reentering his tongue into her mouth, while pulling the other strap off of her shoulder, slowly, pulling it down below her waist and revealing her breasts, letting his fingers trail the path of the descending fabric and his mouth trail the path of his fingers, until one of her hardened nipples were in between his lips.

She moaned, again, as he was sucking on her breast and she let her finger run over his bare stomach, his abs, and he mumbled some sort of incoherent gibberish into her skin.

"You like that?" What was wrong with her voice?

He grunted-growled again, and she took that as confirmation that he did.

She was making her way down and his gibberish increased, in both length and volume, and he was downright growling when she reached the final destination, palming him outside of his shorts for a minute before pulling them down, the red fabric joining her cover-up on the floor.

And then her hand was on him, on him, around him, slowly but steadily pumping him and he was pretty sure that he was three seconds away from blowing it and cum in her hand.

It was as if she could tell, and he watched in near disbelief as she pushed him away, slightly, only to pull down the rest of her bathing suit, letting it slide down her legs and then she was naked in front of him, completely naked, in his dressing room, leaned up against the door that anyone could try to walk in through at any second.

Not that he cared if anyone caught them.

He closed the gap between them, grabbed her and lifted her up, wrapping those god damn legs around his waist while using one hand to carry her beautiful ass, the other one to position his dick between her legs, before pushing her even harder against the door, and within a few seconds, himself into her, loudly so.

She screamed when he filled her, and he almost immediately pulled back out, them slamming himself into her with an even louder growl as he felt her fingers digging into his back.

He repeated, again and again, her body moving with his every shove and he was pretty sure that he was in heaven, literally, and heaven was tight and wet and wonderful all at the same time.

He was _good_. Not that she had ever doubted that he would be, but fuck, he was good, hitting her spot on and she knew she would cum undone within minutes.

She was loud, and he was even louder, and she suddenly remembered that they weren't alone in the villa.

"What if someone can hear us?" Her voice was a semi-scream.

"I don't give a _fuck_."

A couple of more hard thrusts and she came, her nails scratching his back, her mouth latched on to his collarbone as her pussy contracted around him, squeezing him tight, her orgasm making them _both_ vibrate as she screamed her pleasure into his neck.

He was still moving, in and out of her, not as fast as before but almost harder, deeper, and relentlessly so, until she finished out her high and then he suddenly stopped, kissing her deeply before he pulled out, and she complained loudly while he carried her over to the small couch, almost _throwing_ her down on her back, her body bouncing slightly off of the soft cushion before he laid down on top of her.

He bit her collarbone, hard, just as he plowed his rock solid dick deep back into her, and she involuntarily screamed out loud, both from the sensation of him filling her completely and now even deeper, and from the pleasurable pain created by his teeth digging into her sensitive skin. He pulled out, now licking her collarbone instead, outlining it with small, soft kisses, before harshly slamming himself all the way back into her again, his cock hitting her hard while his teeth were once again feasting on her bone, as if he was a starving dog and she was his long-awaited dinner.

He repeated, again and again, moving in and out of her, interspersing his licks with small nibbles, creating a temporary tattoo of sexual branding, while both the bites and thrusts simultaneously grew harsher, and sloppier, and she knew he was getting close and again, and holy Jesus, so was she.

And then he slowed down, to an almost complete stop, and she almost screamed out his name in frustration.

He leaned down to kiss her neck. "I'm sorry, Laur, but I have waited..._so..._fucking...long for this, I don't want it to be over...just...yet."

She rolled her hips up against him, and he smirked as he slowly started to move again, his eyes glued to hers as he continued to steadily fuck her, her legs now wrapped around his back and his cock buried double-digit inches into her.

She met his every thrust, eagerly, hungrily, until she came undone again, pressing her feet into his back this time and thereby keeping him deep,inside of her, riding out her second orgasm all over his dick.

"_Fuuuuuuuuuck_." There was no way his scream couldn't be heard from the outside. And quite possibly at the other end of the ocean.

He came, _exploded_, hard, filling her wet pussy with a few sloppy shoves, kissing her deeply as he released inside of her and he was pretty sure that he would be ready to go again right away.

They stayed like that for a minute, him still on top of her, their bodies moving in synchrony, their breaths matching in both speed and intensity, the otherwise quietness of the room too soon killed by someone knocking on the door, and he reluctantly rolled off of her while she moved to quickly get redressed.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and sat down on the couch as she walked over and opened the door, from where the knocks were getting increasingly louder.

It was Cam.

He didn't look the slightest surprised at seeing her there, and if he noticed her probably messy hair he didn't comment on it.

"So, yeah, good, you're both here, I just wanted to confirm that you're both in for the video shoot."

They both nodded, without looking at each other, and Cam waved a quick goodbye and left.

She was about to follow him, having one foot out the door handle when he grabbed her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She laughed. "Home?"

He _still_ wasn't ready to say goodbye.

"Do you want to...do something? Tomorrow?" Did he sound desperate? Probably,but he didn't care.

She nodded as a huge smile once again reappeared on her face. "Meet me at my place."

She started to walk away, attempting to once again exit the door that she had both come in through and cum against, and although he kind of wanted to follow her he kind of couldn't, because the sight of her ass made it hard, literally, to do so, and he would have to wait a few minutes before he would be able to get dressed.

She stopped outside the door and turned around to look at him.

"And Ross?"

He nodded in response as he was still kind of speechless.

"Bring your camera."

He nodded again as she closed the door between them, and he smiled, unwaveringly, as he now knew that the metaphorical door between them was all but closed.


End file.
